Two Little Lies

by Rhonda Helms

  Though I had to admit that I’d been thinking about it. Stuff we could do in the spring once the snow thawed. Like going on a camping trip when it got warmer or doing a bit of gardening in his backyard. But I kept swallowing those requests down, not wanting to push things. Not wanting to ruin this delicate balance we had.

  Bianca rested a hand on my arm. “I’m proud of you, you know. I don’t tell you that enough, but you’re really working hard to get yourself out there. Especially after what’s-his-douche was such a douche.”

  I laughed. “Thanks.” Funny how West hardly came to mind anymore. Only when I drove by the dealership or the odd random thought here or there. That pain in my heart had faded away.

  And not just because of Kyle. Because I’d stood up for myself with West instead of backing down. Thankfully he’d left me alone after our talk at my apartment. I had no idea what was going on in his life. Who he was spending his time with. Frankly, I didn’t care.

  “Yeah, I’m proud of you,” Bianca continued, “but…I know you, girl. And let’s be honest, you’re not the dating-around type. Not long term, anyway. Can you see yourself walking away from Kyle in a week, a month, two months and being totally okay with it?”

  My throat constricted, and I forced myself to chug down some of my beer. “I don’t know,” I admitted.

  And that was the core of the issue. I could float in this state with him for a while, but deep down, I wasn’t as carefree and casual about dating as Bianca was. No, I was still ultimately looking to settle down. More and more, in the dark stillness of the night, when I was lying in bed staring at my ceiling, my heart cried out that it wanted to commit with Kyle.

  How much longer could I be okay with this without my secret desires wrecking what he and I had?

  “He told me when we started dating that he’s not that kind of guy. I accepted it going into this.” I sighed, picked more at my label, ripping off a strip of paper.

  “Maybe he’d be that kind of guy with you,” Bianca said slowly.

  I blinked and looked at her. Not what I’d been expecting her to say. “You think?”

  She shrugged. “What the hell do I know? Anything is possible, right?”

  “I guess.”

  “I have to say, out of all the years I’ve known Kyle, I’ve never seen him like this before. He’s always been a casual dater, but with you…he seems awful committed for a guy who isn’t committed. Know what I mean? You guys talk all the time. You’re always together. If that isn’t serious dating, I don’t know what is.”

  Maybe she had a point. My lungs expanded as I drew in a big gulp of air. Hope made my heart float. Kyle might not call it commitment, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t. Perhaps it was just the label he was afraid of.

  “I think if he stops and looks at how he feels for you,” she said, “he might start to suspect that maybe he’s falling for you too.”

  I closed my eyes for a moment and allowed myself to think about how it would feel. To have Kyle love me. It would be scary, of course—that damned vulnerability thing again, the risk of getting hurt. But something told me he’d be worth it.

  Which begged the question…would he think I was worth it too?

  The thought was a bit too personal to explore right now, so I shoved it aside and turned my attention to Bianca.

  “Hey, Chris,” I called out as I waved my hand. “We need shots, please. Whatever my friend here wants.”

  “Buttery nipples?” she asked me with a knowing challenge in her eye.

  Ugh, not my favorite, and she knew it. But friends drank crappy shots in support of each other. “Fine. Three buttery nipples,” I told him. “One for you, too.”

  He gave us a broad wink. “Three drinks for the lovely ladies and their bartender, coming right up.”

  I sat back on my couch and curled into Kyle’s left arm, into the heat of his side. Soft music filled my living room, and the scent of candles gave the air a slightly sweet scent.

  “Tell me about your day,” I said to him. I was a bit lethargic after the carb-loaded lasagna I’d made him.

  He groaned and dropped his head on the couch. “I had a woman come into my office today wanting to hire me because she thought she was being stalked by her mailman. She insisted he was purposefully messing up her mail delivery so he could come back and see her.”

  “Interesting. What do you think?”

  “I think she’s a nut and he’s just a bad mailman,” he said with a soft laugh. “Sometimes this job just drives me crazy. I get the weirdest people.” He reached for my legs and shifted me so my butt was nestled in his lap, my side turned to his chest. His arms wrapped around me, and my heart jumped in my throat. “What did you do today?”

  “Kept our resident streaker from running naked in the halls.” I breathed in the scent of his shirt. “It was tiring. That woman hates clothes.”

  “I wish you hated clothes more,” he said, which made me chuckle. “Maybe I’ll luck out when the weather warms up.”

  It was goofy, I knew, but I had to admit that my heart swelled when he brought up springtime. Maybe that was a clue that he was thinking more than just in the moment with me too. Or was I grasping, reading into his statement?

  This was our one-month anniversary of dating—or whatever the hell it was we were doing. I hadn’t pointed it out to him, not wanting to jinx things. Up to this point, he’d been affectionate with me but not this…nurturing. Not seeking my comfort as he was now.

  I snuggled deeper into his arms and closed my eyes. Let myself sink into this feeling, enjoy it.

  “Dinner was good,” he said as he pressed a kiss to the side of my forehead. “Thanks again. Haven’t had a homemade meal in ages. Most of my cooking comes out of a box anymore.”

  “You’re welcome,” I murmured. My skin tingled where his lips had pressed. I wanted to just keep living in this moment, where our walls were down, where we were here and quiet and warm.

  I stroked his chest and felt his muscles tighten under my exploring fingers. With a dip of my head, I pressed a kiss to his jaw, down his throat to the fluttering pulse at the base of his neck. His skin tasted of musk and salt and something uniquely him. Its flavor had branded itself into my head.

  His fingers dipped under my chin, tilted my face up, and then we were kissing, slow and languid. It was sensual, like our breaths and unspoken words and emotions mingled in the touches of our tongues.

  We kissed for I didn’t know how long until his hand dipped below my sweater to stroke my stomach. I grew heated, aching, and rubbed my jean-clad thighs together in an effort to satisfy that slow pulse at the apex of my thighs.

  “Let’s go to bed,” he said in a husky whisper against my mouth.

  I nodded, and we made it to my room then fell together in a flurry of discarded clothes and hot bodies. But our sex wasn’t rushed; we took our time exploring each other’s skin in a way we hadn’t done before. Liquid heat rushed through my veins as I tasted the soft flesh of his inner elbow, let my fingers dance and glide along the V of his pelvis.

  His hands swept up and massaged my thighs, and I was pretty sure he sampled every inch of my flesh with that wicked, talented tongue.

  When I came, his name was the only word on my lips, said over and over again.

  Afterward, we curled against each other, my face on his chest and my leg draped over his, his arm wrapped possessively around my back to tuck me against his side. His breathing evened out, slowed, and I could tell from his twitching that he was falling asleep.

  I was too full to sleep though. My brain was overloading with everything I wanted to say, all the ways this guy had gotten to me. And my heart was about to explode from remembering the sexy, intimate looks we’d exchanged when he’d entered me. It was like being penetrated in every possible way… I was sure he’d almost become part of me, had imprinted a piece of himself in my soul.

  I brushed a bit of hair off his brow, careful to not wake him up. Drank in the sight of his face, the pale street
light pouring in from the slats in the window. Maybe it was my conversation with Bianca a few nights ago that had my emotions all stirred up, but I couldn’t help but think I wanted more of this.

  He was stubborn, sarcastic, witty, generous. Emotional in a way I wasn’t even sure he realized. I’d watched his face as we’d had sex tonight. This hadn’t been just physical for him. He’d been making love to me, from the intensity in his eyes to the knowing strokes of his hands. He wanted to satisfy me—not because of some ego thing, but because he liked making me feel good.

  Yes, I was falling for Kyle. I couldn’t tell him though. And it was killing me.

  Instead of letting the edging sadness seep in, I gave myself this time to savor my headlong tumble into love. I watched the rise and fall of his chest, his fluttering eyelashes as he moved into deep sleep. His arms tightened around me a fraction to draw me closer, and his heat poured into my body to warm me from the chill in the air.

  Though we’d had sex a number of times now, we hadn’t spent the night with each other since that first night. Part of me wondered if I should wake him up. The other part selfishly wanted him to stay here. Okay, I bargained with myself, if he woke himself and decided to go home, I wasn’t going to be hurt. But I wasn’t going to actively do anything to disturb this moment either.

  My eyes drooped closed, and I gave in to the drowsiness and fell asleep.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “How do you like your eggs?” I asked Kyle, who was leaning against my countertop, watching me as I gathered ingredients to make breakfast.

  “Not fertile.” He shot me a toothy grin.

  “Very funny,” I said as I slapped his chest. “Fine. You’ll get an omelet and you’ll like it, mister.”

  “Sounds good to me. I’m just happy to get fed.” He reached down and squeezed my butt, which was clad in a pair of yoga pants, then grabbed juice and set the table.

  It was so cozy, having him around. Since he’d slept here last week, we’d done the sleepover thing a few more times. An easy pattern I’d grown used to surprisingly quickly—moving about my morning with breakfast, showers, getting dressed and kissing each other goodbye as we went to work. Neither one of us had talked about it, but these baby steps had given me hope for the future.

  Speaking of the future… I glanced at the calendar hanging on my kitchen wall. It was February first. We were inching close to Valentine’s Day, and neither of us had discussed that day. I turned my attention to the omelet. Cracked the eggs, poured them into the heated skillet, filled the inside with veggies.

  Had he thought about Valentine’s Day approaching? Whether he liked or hated the holiday, he had to be aware of it, since you couldn’t go in a store without being bombarded by red and pink. Was he avoiding the topic, hoping I wouldn’t bring it up? Or maybe he was waiting for me to say something. I shook my head at myself. Ugh, this stuff made me crazy.

  I should just mention it. Put on my big girl panties and talk, the way grownups did. He’d probably bust my balls for all the anxiety I was putting myself through. Maybe I’d say something casually so as not to throw things off, just to ask if he wanted to have dinner that night. No biggie.

  I opened my mouth to talk, but my nerves got the better of me, so I decided to warm into the subject. No, I wasn’t being a coward, I told myself. “How’s work going?” I asked him this question all the time—partly because it was a safe topic but also because I was curious about what he did all day.

  He sighed and dug through my drawers for silverware. “Crappy. I just paid our bills for the month. We’re almost in the red, and business has ground to a halt.”

  I reached over and rubbed his back, surprised with his honesty on the topic. It couldn’t have been easy to admit. “I’m sorry. Anything I can do?”

  “Not unless you have someone you need me to find.”

  “Not lately,” I said with a light laugh. “But if I find someone I want to stalk, I’ll definitely tell you.” I flipped the omelets then eyed him.

  He stood there staring at the opened drawer, swallowing. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  The vulnerability in his voice made my heart ache. I scrabbled in my brain for anything I could tell him to help. “Maybe you can go to school? Get a new degree or something?

  He stiffened then grabbed the silverware. Put it on the table. “I’m starving. ETA on the omelets?”

  “Wait, why are you changing the subject?” I asked him point-blank as I scooped breakfast onto two plates. That was unlike him, and it made me nervous. Kyle wasn’t one to dodge topics. That was my game, not his.

  He plopped the silverware down on the table. I heard the fringes of anger in his voice as he spat out, “Do you have any idea how it feels to know you’re killing the family business?” I knew the anger wasn’t aimed at me, so I tried to not take it personally. “The guilt is eating me alive. At this rate, we won’t make it until the end of the year.” He gripped the back of one of my chairs and leveled his gaze at me. His body was one tense, straight line. “This business is all I know. You suggest I go back to school—but for what, huh? To get a mediocre office job I’m going to hate?”

  “Why do you assume you have to take a job you don’t love?” I challenged. I put the plates down on the table, but neither one of us moved to sit. This wasn’t one of our usual arguments about the weather or a book or which local place had the best pizza. This was personal, and I could tell he was emotionally raw. “There are lots of different things you can explore. You love computers, so why not start there? Why not take a leap of faith that if you take action, it’ll work out?”

  He shook his head at me, and the pitying gesture made me feel a flash of anger. “Faith? In what?”

  “In yourself, maybe?” I waved my hands between him and me. “Or in—” I stopped, aware that I was about to say “in us.” My heart leaped to my throat. I was toeing that line, the one that had become more and more indistinguishable every day.

  His eyes narrowed. “In what, Natalie?”

  I clamped my jaw shut and crossed my arms. “Your food is getting cold,” I threw out there to buy me time to figure out what to say.

  It didn’t work; he’d heard what I hadn’t spoken out loud. I saw the moment he started to pull away from me. It was evident in his eyes—the stilted movements of his hand as he scrubbed the scruff on his jaw, cast his gaze around the kitchen. Like he wanted to escape here. Like I was trapping him.

  My stomach twisted in a painful knot. Some masochistic part of me made me bring up the elephant in the room. “What is going on with us, Kyle?”

  He stilled, his hand dropping down to rest lightly on the top of the chair.

  “Like with Valentine’s Day,” I continued. “It’s coming up in two weeks. I don’t expect anything from you, but I’d like to make plans for us to do something. A simple meal. Hell, even getting a slice of pie somewhere.” Everything I’d been wanting to tell him tripped out of my mouth; I couldn’t stop. “You know, since we started seeing each other, I haven’t pushed you. Haven’t asked you for anything. You set up these terms, and I accepted them. But you need to start having faith in me. In other people.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. “I know that’s hard for you, but I was cheated on, yet I have faith that you won’t hurt me.”

  His eyes glinted with frost. “We both went into this thing with no strings attached. That wasn’t me just trying to be a jerk, Natalie. Do you know how being in a relationship changes people?” He moved away from the table, putting more distance between us, and I felt myself grow anxious. When he leaned his back against the kitchen counter, he continued. “Last year, I caught one woman cheating with six different men in the same month. Her husband was at home, watching their kids, and she was out banging a bunch of guys behind his back. When I showed him the pictures, he broke down and sobbed. He couldn’t believe this woman would treat him like that. They’d been married for twelve years.”

  “Do you hon
estly think I’d do that to you?” I threw back at him. “Or are you afraid you’d do that to me?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Seriously?”

  “You’re the one who thinks everyone cheats. Is that why you keep yourself at an emotional distance from me, by not committing to even saying we’re dating each other?” Tears of frustration began to build in the backs of my eyes, but I blinked them away. “I keep telling you that not everyone is a cheater, but you lob example after example back at me when I do.”

  I took a shaky step toward him, trying to ignore the fire in his eyes. I pushed down my own feelings and reached out to take his hand. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t try to hold mine either.

  “I know you have trust issues,” I said in a quiet voice. “I’m sure you see some jacked-up shit in your line of work. But how is painting everyone with the same brush fair to them? To me?”

  His eyes drilled into mine. He just stood there, staring at me. Then he said, “If you saw the things I’ve seen, you’d be cynical too. This isn’t just a matter of trust issues. It’s a matter of people being liars, dishonest. I pride myself on being honest—and I’ve been so with you from the start. But in our society, that’s the exception for the most part, not the rule.”

  “Not everyone is a liar or dishonest. At the core of their hearts, people are good. I believe that. Most have a great capacity for love.”

  He huffed.

  “You can’t tell me what you and I haven’t isn’t real, isn’t special,” I pressed, passion strengthening my voice. “We have a connection. That isn’t just in my head. I can feel it.” I pressed a hand to his chest, could feel his heart batter against my palm. That heartbeat told me that he wasn’t emotionally unaffected by me. “You care about me, and I care about you. Just trust in that and give it a chance. Please.”

  It was so hard to ask him this. But I had to. I couldn’t request that he step out on the ledge unless I was willing to step out there too. Which meant putting aside my pride, my hurt feelings, and laying it all on the table.